


The Keeping the Stars Apart Job

by Cygna_hime



Series: higher than soul can hope [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Gen, Heist, I realize that's a lot of pairing tags for something also tagged as 'gen', Nyx Ulric: Pansexual Disaster, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, The Great Prompto Theft, but they're all in the background I swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cygna_hime/pseuds/Cygna_hime
Summary: Nyx, Luche, and Crowe have been picked to accompanytheCor Leonis on a top-secret extraction mission - so top secret, they don't even know who they're extracting. They do know where they're headed, though: Gralea, heart of the Niflheim Empire. It definitely won't be as easy as strolling right in, picking up their package, and strolling back out, but Nyx is confident they can handle it. It'll be an adventure!Well, he's not wrong about that last part, at least.





	The Keeping the Stars Apart Job

**Author's Note:**

> This is an interquel that takes place between chapters 2 and 5 of [whatever a sun will always sing is you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10921728/chapters/24290271), so you probably want to read at least the first two chapters of that, just to get up to speed.
> 
> Tags, including warnings, will be updated as the fic progresses, so keep an eye on that.

Nyx knows the man who walks into the briefing room at the captain’s heels, but then so does everyone: Cor the Immortal, Marshal of the Crownsguard. What is he doing here? There’s no actual _rule_ prohibiting Kingsglaive and Crownsguard from mingling, but, well, they just don’t. The Crownsguard never liked having to give up some of “their” space in the Citadel to the Glaives, anyway.

His eyes pass over them all, assessing. Nyx stands straighter and resists the urge to adjust the set of his jacket. He looks _fine_ , and he knows it, so there’s no call to be nervous. Not that there would be any call to be nervous if he didn’t look fine. It’s not like the Immortal is in his chain of command, he’s just a literal living legend, no big deal.

In comparison, Captain Drautos’s perpetual glower is almost friendly. “Luche. Nyx. Crowe. My office, now.”

Normally Nyx would ask questions, but he’s not about to be his usual insubordinate self in front of the Crownsguard, Immortal or no. The Kingsglaive are professionals, and if keeping his mouth shut (for once) is what it takes for them to be respected as such, he’ll do it. He’s done worse.

He falls in behind the captain, trying not to fidget with the effort of not saying anything. Libertus gives him a look that Nyx with the ease of long practice translates as, “What’d you _do_?” His reply is a half second of wide-eyed plea for rescue. He doesn’t _know_ what they did, doesn’t recall getting up to anything that would attract attention outside the Glaives. Sure, he’s good at his job, but aren’t they all? (Sure, he can be a little shit when the mood takes him that way, but again, aren’t they all?)

The captain’s office is crowded with five of them in it, but that doesn’t stop Marshal Leonis from not just shutting but locking the door behind them before coming to stand next to Captain Drautos again. He still hasn’t said a word.

Captain Drautos gives them another once-over before speaking. “The three of you are selected to perform an extraction. You’ll be answering to Marshal Leonis for the duration of the assignment.”

Answering to the Crownsguard? Since when has that been something they do? Despite himself, Nyx is interested. It’s been a long time since he went on a mission behind enemy lines, let alone one as important as this must be.

“Sir,” Luche says next to him, “where are we going?”

“Gralea,” says Marshal Leonis, and Nyx feels his eyes widen. That’s not just behind enemy lines, that’s the very heart of enemy territory. Who are they going all that way to extract? For that matter, how are they going to get there, let alone out again, without getting caught? It can’t be that easy to get right to the Emperor’s doorstep, or they’d have done it already. “So dress warm.

“You’ll be approved for armiger access for this mission, but pack light. You don’t want to rely on it more than you have to. No uniforms, no insignia, nothing to trace you back to Lucis.”

“You’re going comms dark on this one,” Captain Drautos adds. “Don’t even bring them. Leave them home. You’re the only backup you have.”

Nyx nods. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Crowe doing the same next to him. It’s not like any backup could get there in time to be helpful, anyway. Besides, with the three of them _plus_ Cor the Immortal, they won’t need backup anyway.

He hopes.

Captain Drautos leans forward on his desk, looking them each in the eye in turn. “This mission is highly classified. That means no telling anyone where you’re going. No one at all. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!” they chorus.

“Good. Report to the Citadel at 0700 tomorrow for deployment. Luche, stay with me. The rest of you, dismissed.”

 

“Holy shit,” Crowe breathes as soon as they’re reasonably sure no one can hear them.

“I know, right?” Nyx replies. “ _Cor_ the _Immortal_.”

“I was more talking about going on a walking tour of fucking _Gralea_ , but sure, we can make it all about your little crush.”

“I do not have a crush!” Nyx protests. It’s just a professional admiration for someone who’s managed to stay alive on the constant battlefield that is the Lucian frontier for more than twenty-five years like it’s nothing. Although he guesses Marshal Leonis is okay to look at, if you like them straight-edge. Which he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t have a crush.

“You totally have a crush.”

“Who does he have a crush on this week?” How Libertus moves so quietly without even seeming to try, Nyx will never know.

“ _Cor_ the _Immortal_ ,” Crowe says, managing to make her voice both the exact imitation of Nyx’s and embarrassingly breathy.

He grabs for her, but she dodges out of his reach, laughing at him.

“That’s nothing new,” Libertus says, the traitor. “When he was a kid back in Galahd, he used to keep newspaper clippings of – hey!” He isn’t as fast as Crowe; it’s a lot easier to get him in a headlock.

Unfortunately, he also knows how to _break_ a headlock, which leaves them both on the floor flailing at each other while Crowe laughs above them. Story of Nyx’s life.

“Seriously though, what was that about?” Libertus asks when this form of entertainment has palled.

“We got an away mission for the Crownsguard – with the Crownsguard? They didn’t say. But we report to Marshal Leonis,” says Nyx.

“Where to?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Can’t tell you that either.”

“Now you’re just screwing with me.”

“Nope,” says Crowe, sauntering idly down the hall. “It’s top secret. Lips are sealed.”

“And I don’t want to know what the marshal would do to us if he caught us telling anyone,” Nyx adds. He does know what the captain would do: put their heads on spikes outside his office as a warning to others.

“I’m not anyone,” Libertus protests, but he lets it drop after that. “Still, you guys going off on your own – stay safe, you hear? None of your hero crap without us to back you up.”

“Don’t worry,” Crowe says. “I’ll look after him.”

“Hey, I don’t need looking after!”

“Says you!”

 

At precisely 6:58 the next morning, Nyx walks up the steps of the Citadel towards the throne room, everything he can’t do without in a small duffle on his back. It’s an uncomfortable feeling: he’s used to the Citadel, more or less, but before this he’s always been in uniform. People look at him differently when he’s in uniform, even if they don’t like him or what he represents. Now he’s just a scruffy refugee tracking Galahdian dust all over Insomnia’s nice polished floors.

So maybe he gets a little allegorical when he’s nervous.

Crowe catches up to him at the top of the stairs. “Look at you,” she says, bumping her shoulder against his affectionately. “I didn’t know you owned anything without the Kingsglaive symbol on it.” When he looks down sheepishly (there may have been an emergency shopping trip in his recent past), she lets out a hoot of laughter. “You _didn’t!_ ”

“Shut up,” he says, but he’s grinning now too. Having a friend by his side makes everything feel more manageable. Luche joins them as they pass the turn-off for the training yards, his own bag slung over one shoulder.

The throne room is a lot more intimidating in civilian clothes, even with friends. At least the Council isn’t there: it’s just the king, his Shield, and Marshal Leonis (still just as imposing in his civvies) waiting for them.

Nyx drops to one knee, Crowe on his left, Luche on his right, as Luche says, “Kingsglaive reporting, Your Majesty!”

“You may rise,” says the king. He is already making his way down the long steps of the throne, limping slightly on his bad leg. Nyx wonders if it’s an old wound, then catches himself. It’s none of his business, is what it is.

“You are here to be granted access to the Royal Armiger for your journey. By accepting it, you agree to serve as ordered, fully and faithfully, until the end of your mission or the end of your days. Do you accept?”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” they all three say, not quite at once.

“I place my trust in you. Let it be done.” King Regis waves his hand, and three sparks of blue light fly from the ring on his finger to strike each of them in the chest. It feels like the moment before a warp, or before lightning strikes. Luche rocks backward; he never had much of a head for either. Crowe’s eyes are shining.

The king looks over them, and for a moment he seems less than a king, less than the power he wields. Just a man, after all. “May the grace of the gods go with you.”


End file.
